Abeloth clenched her teeth. Something didn't align.
Her eyes narrowed, focus cutting past pain and threat alike. "The other Gravemind," she said slowly. "The one outside my prison world." She paused. "Why hasn't it escaped?"
For the first time, the response wasn't immediate.
The Gravemind's coils shifted, irritation rippling through its vast mass. "The Shadow Monarch bound us," it replied at last. "Chained us within a hidden prison. Used us. Fed upon us to further his strength." Its many voices overlapped, thick with bitterness. "Not even a fragment escaped. Every attempt was burned away by the fire of Forerunner machines."
That was all. The bulk of it withdrew, flesh dragging against stone as it retreated into its deeper pit, far from Abeloth's position.
She waited. Counted her breaths. Listened until the last echo of its movement vanished.
Only then did she move. Abeloth pressed a hand to her temple, probing with care and precision, confirming there was no remaining Flood biomass near her brain—no tendrils, no listening echo, no shared sensory thread left behind. Clear.
Her eyes widened slightly. That confirmed it.
The Flood did not function as individuals. It operated as a single distributed mind. Separate Keyminds were still bound to the same systemic state. Pain inflicted on one propagated through all.
Which meant if one could be chained, the structure to do so already existed.
Her lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile.
If she replicated that structure—if she inverted it—she could anchor the parasite instead of herself.
Freedom. True freedom. The kind that would let her reclaim her power and return it to its younger, unbroken state.
—
The Jedi Temple remained silent, tense in a way no meditation could smooth over. Avalon's garden still bloomed within the courtyard, untouched, its unreal serenity standing in stark contrast to the funeral markers placed for Dooku .
Jin-Woo sat where he had not moved for hours. This was no clone, no projection, no partial manifestation—this was him. Still. Watching.
Around the courtyard stood those who mattered now. Palpatine, unreadable. Tarkin, rigid, surrounded by Republic forces whose presence was anything but ceremonial. The air carried a single unspoken question.
Would the Jedi leave Coruscant… or be discarded by it?
The weight of that choice pressed hardest on Yoda.
He felt it clearly now. The Republic would tolerate the Jedi only as long as they were useful. The moment they failed—truly failed—they would be cast aside without hesitation.
At last, Yoda approached Jin-Woo.
"Ready, your quarters are," Yoda said quietly. "Long hours, you have waited. Much time, you have sat like this."
Jin-Woo didn't look away from the courtyard. "Can you even guarantee," he said evenly, "that lunatic Tarkin won't try to snatch your younglings the moment I look the other way?"
His eyes finally shifted to Yoda. "Besides, this is your decision . I'm only here for seven days."
—
Yoda's thoughts drifted back to the council chamber, to the hours Jin-Woo had waited in silence outside.
The members of the Order were already gathered when Yoda entered. The chamber felt smaller than it ever had, the walls heavy with unspoken doubt.
Mace Windu spoke first, his voice firm but carrying strain beneath it. "First and foremost, I thank you for still trusting me enough to attend this meeting."
Yoda inclined his head once toward his former Padawan.
Plo Koon followed, his tone calm but weighted. "That we are still here means something," he said. "Even now. with the situation turned so strongly against us."
Tyvokka spoke next, his deep Wookiee voice translated through the chamber. "What Dooku said before his final breath was true," he rumbled. "And it struck us harder than any blade. We were blinded by politics—and that blindness wounded us far worse."
The words lingered uncomfortably.
Ki-Adi-Mundi broke the silence. "I say that Jin-Woo is wrong," he said plainly. "Powerful though he may be—stronger than all of us combined—his suggestion is still wrong."
Every gaze in the chamber turned toward him.
Yoda's ears twitched slightly. "Reveal your thoughts, you will," he said, voice measured. "Hide them, you should not."
Mundi drew a breath. "The Republic and the Jedi are inseparable," he said. "We are the peacekeepers of the galaxy. Even if we cannot win the hearts of everyone, we can still repair what is broken by doing what we have always done. Protect. Mediate. End conflict."
His chin lifted a fraction. "Abandoning that role would be admitting failure."
As his words settled, several members of the Council began to nod—slowly, thoughtfully. There was truth in what he said. Familiar truth. Comfortable truth. The kind the Order had lived by for generations.
Then Qui-Gon stepped forward.
He was not a sitting member of the Council, yet the room felt his presence immediately. His voice carried no anger—only disbelief.
"What is wrong with all of you?" Qui-Gon asked. "Jin-Woo already warned us. The path you're choosing is the same one that chained us to these mistakes in the first place."
A ripple of tension passed through the chamber.
Depa Billaba spoke, her tone calm but firm, cutting through before the exchange could escalate. "Qui-Gon," she said gently, "I will let that pass."
She turned slightly toward him, eyes steady. "Without your warning—without your intervention—Naga Sadow's return would have cost us far more lives. You ensured many Jedi survived. For that, you have my gratitude."
Her voice softened, but did not yield. "However, remember this: you were invited here to advise . The wisdom of the Council must be heard, weighed, and understood—even when we disagree with it."
Qui-Gon didn't step back. "Jin-Woo has given us seven days," he said, voice steady but urgent. "Only seven, Master Depa. And none of us can make him stay longer."
His gaze moved across the chamber, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.
"That is our only window. These seven days. The only chance we have to change course."
He paused, then continued, quieter—but sharper. "And I hope none of you have forgotten who truly rules the Republic right now. The majority power lies with the strong Republic faction. With Chancellor Tarkin."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"He is eager," Qui-Gon went on, "to conscript our younglings into his military. Eager to turn the Jedi into an arm of the state."
His hands clenched at his sides. "If we place ourselves back under the Senate as peacekeepers again—if we play guardians of the galaxy on their terms—then this time, we won't even have a voice."
"A sword," Qui-Gon finished, "already pointed at our throats."
Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke up immediately. "Chancellor Palpatine has already assured me otherwise."
Mace Windu's eyes narrowed. "How so, Ki-Adi-Mundi? At present, the Senate's popularity rests with Tarkin."
Mundi nodded once. "Chancellor Palpatine still holds nearly half the Senate. He is one of the two Chancellors alongside Tarkin. He assured me that as long as he places himself directly in opposition, Tarkin will not act against the Order."
"He will not move against the younglings," Mundi continued, "not immediately. Tarkin's position will be challenged within hours. There is… corruption."
The word landed hard.
Mace Windu straightened. "Corruption," he repeated carefully. "You mean the dark side?"
Mundi hesitated. Just a fraction too long. "Forgive my wording," he said. "I meant political graft. Influence. Deals made in shadow. I do not know the details."
His hands folded calmly. "But the result is clear. Tarkin's position will be put under scrutiny. And once that happens, the Jedi will return to our normal standing within the Republic."
Obi-Wan leaned closer to Qui-Gon and whispered, "Isn't that good, Master? The fear you felt—that dark age for the Jedi—won't happen if Palpatine supports us."
Qui-Gon looked at him for a long moment. Concern flickered in his eyes. He rested a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, a steadying touch, and met his gaze.
"It isn't position that threatens us," Qui-Gon said quietly. "Nor today's judgment." A faint, weary smile followed. "But thank you, my Padawan."
Then Qui-Gon straightened and turned back to the Council.
"What of the facts?" he asked, voice firm now. "The Sith shrine beneath this very Temple. The ancient Sith, Naga Sadow, who escaped using my master's body—using Master Dooku himself."
Qui-Gon continued "Can that ever be called 'normal' again?. My masters. My friends. We have already lost them."
His gaze swept across the Council, unflinching.
"It is time we admit the truth," he said. "The old ways will not save us. If we cling to them now, they will lead us—not to balance—but to our doom."
Ki-Adi-Mundi answered immediately. "The doom I see is Jin-Woo," he said. "A man with power darker than the dark side itself, who keeps it all to himself. He watches from his false garden and lets fate unfold."
His voice sharpened. "If he truly knew the Jedi Temple held a Sith shrine beneath it, he should have warned us again and again—until we believed."
Before anyone could respond, Qui-Gon stepped forward.
He lowered himself—not in submission, but in respect. One knee touched the floor. His lightsaber was placed gently on the stone before Yoda.
Yoda's eyes widened slightly. "Hmm?" he said softly. "What intention is this, Qui-Gon Jinn? Leave us, you intend?"
Qui-Gon lifted his head. "Yes, Master." He rose to his feet slowly. "As you can see," Qui-Gon continued, voice steady, "even with all that has happened—with proof laid bare before us—we still choose comfort. We cling to what feels familiar."
His gaze moved across the Council. "That comfort is already shattered. We simply refuse to accept it."
"Master Yoda," Qui-Gon said, calm and resolute, "I intend to leave the Jedi Order. As my former master Dooku did before me. I will see the world with my own eyes. Understand it as it is—not as we wish it to be."
Mace Windu exhaled slowly. "I understand why you wish to leave," he said. "Dooku and I were often like water and oil." A pause, then firmer. "However, Qui-Gon, you should keep your lightsaber. There is no rule requiring you to surrender it."
Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Master Windu, I thank you for your guidance." His hand rested briefly on the hilt at his belt. "But it is time for me to begin anew. Including my blade."
He turned then, eyes finding Obi-Wan's.
"Be a good Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly. "Protect their honor. Protect the friends who have fought beside us."
Obi-Wan swallowed, unable to speak.
Qui-Gon stepped back and bowed—once—to Yoda, then to each member of the Council in turn. And then he left.
The doors sealed behind him.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Ki-Adi-Mundi broke the silence. "Master Windu, I must say this now. We need to detain Qui-Gon before he poisons the younglings' minds with his maverick attitude—at least until we can convince him to return."
Mace Windu turned his head slightly, eyes hard but thoughtful. "I know Qui-Gon," he said evenly. "He's like Dooku in that regard. If he leaves, it's because he wants to leave. He won't drag the Order with him."
Yoda remained silent.
His ears drooped just a little as thought weighed on him.
Heavy, my heart has become, he reflected. Clouded by age, by loss.
Dooku, my Padawan, fallen. And now Qui-Gon, walking the same path away.
Silent, I stayed—perhaps too long.
Fear of losing another, bind my words it did.
Slowly, Yoda rose from his seat. The Council turned as one.
Mace Windu stiffened. "Master Yoda," he said carefully, "are you… resigning as Grand Master?"
Yoda shook his head. "No. Fresh air, I seek."
He began to walk toward the exit, staff tapping softly against the floor.
"Steel sky, Coruscant has," Yoda said without looking back. "Unnatural it is. Dooku once told me so." A pause. "See something living, I must."
The doors opened.
"Avalon's garden, I will visit," Yoda finished. "The one Jin-Woo keeps."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
On present --- Avalon's sky hung impossibly blue above the ruined courtyard, clouds drifting where durasteel ceilings should have been. Grass bent gently under a wind that did not exist anywhere else on Coruscant. Flowers bloomed without Force signature, without illusion—simply alive.
Yoda stepped onto the stone path and felt his shoulders ease despite himself.
He approached Jin-Woo, who sat where he had not moved for hours, hands resting loosely, eyes forward.
Yoda lowered himself beside him with a soft huff.
"Permission to sit," Yoda said lightly, glancing around. "Utopia of King Arthur, this is, yes?"
Jin-Woo's mouth curved. "You already sat here earlier," he replied calmly. "If this is short-term memory loss, Master Yoda, that joke's outdated."
Yoda snorted—an unmistakable, quiet sound of amusement.
"Hrm. Sharp tongue, you keep," he said, eyes half-lidded. "Sharper than many Knights, these days."
Silence settled again, but it was an easier one now.
Yoda looked up at the false sky, watching the clouds pass. "Strange, this place is," he murmured. "No Force pulls. pressure. Alive, yet untouched."
Jin-Woo answered without looking away. "Because it's hidden. No one will ever find it. Unlike places that rest within the Force and eventually become part of it—natural ground for the Jedi—Avalon doesn't merge. Very few are permitted to reside there at all."
Yoda tilted his head slightly. "Others, there are?" he asked. "Beyond King Arthur? The armored one spoke as if it belonged to Pendragon alone."
"There are others," Jin-Woo said calmly. "Merlin, trapped by his own design. And the boy with red hair—if he and Artoria ever reconcile." His tone was neutral, almost distant.
Yoda nodded, absorbing it, but his eyes remained sharp. Testing, always testing. "And you, Jin-Woo," he said after a pause. "How did you pull Avalon's garden from its hidden place?"
Jin-Woo finally looked up, eyes reflecting the artificial sky. "Power outside this galaxy," he replied. "There's far more beyond your maps, your archives, your myths. Things waiting to be discovered—or avoided."
He rested his hands together, posture relaxed but absolute. "No one truly knows what lies beyond the credits of a story," he continued, voice carrying a quiet weight. "So the only choice is to keep moving forward.."